


Corruption (And You're No Longer Human)

by LordessMeep



Category: Haikyuu!!, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: (But Kinda Not Really?), Alternate Universe, Angst, Bottom Iwaizumi Hajime, Hate Sex, M/M, Minor Bungou Stray Dogs Season 2 Spoilers, Oikawa Tries Aftercare, Oikawa-centric, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, That Bungou Stray Dogs AU no one asked for, it doesn't work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 06:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15989759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordessMeep/pseuds/LordessMeep
Summary: Later, when he’s admiring the arc that Iwaizumi’s back makes against the bed, Tooru thinks about how bad Iwaizumi is at lying – always has been.





	Corruption (And You're No Longer Human)

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, the first thing I post here after coming out of a debilitating writer's block, and it's porn. 
> 
> Full disclosure - it's been sitting on my hard drive since June of 2017, mostly completed, and only the final scene had to be written in. It's so great to be writing up a storm after an entire year of being unable to do so. 
> 
> Warning for minor Bungou Stray Dogs spoilers. Bottom Iwa because my life can't get enough of bottom iwa. Enjoy. <3

 

*

There’s something endlessly satisfying in holding Iwaizumi down – a hand buried in his dark hair, pushing his face down; one knee in the middle of his back, pinning him to the dirt; and the hysterical laughter gives way to ragged breaths as his scars sink into his skin once more.

“I-” Iwaizumi coughs, spitting out congealed blood onto the ground, “Told you to fucking s-stop me as soon as I was done,”

“Ah… but it’s too much fun to watch Iwa-chan wreak havoc,” Tooru singsongs in that precise way that he knows pisses Iwaizumi off.

“Bastard,” he growls – one of his weaker insults, if Tooru is being honest, “I used it because I trusted you.”

“And I’m glad you did.” Tooru replies immediately, but he doesn’t say more. Iwaizumi had a _very_ good – intimate, even – idea of exactly how Tooru felt about his use of Corruption. Fuck, Tooru only held himself away because he didn’t need Iwaizumi to know that the feeling persisted, even after years of being apart.

Iwaizumi pushes against his hand, trying to lift his head up. “Let me up, Shittykawa.”

Tooru doesn’t comply. “But Iwa-chan’s still weak right now… like a _baby_ ,”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi snorts, sardonic, “As if _someone_ didn’t get off from providing _afterca-_ ”

He cuts himself off, but Tooru’s heard it. There’s a part of him that wants to tease – _aww, did my cute little Iwa-chan miss me?_ – but he doesn’t do it. Instead, he gets up and off of Iwaizumi, pulling him to his feet, slinging an arm around his waist. Perhaps there’s something to be said about muscle memory, for Iwaizumi relaxes completely for about two seconds before stiffening in Tooru’s hold.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice reeking with suspicion.

“Taking you home, Iwa-chan,”

“I can do that myself, asshole.”

“Let me make it up to you, hm?” Tooru says, turning his head to brush his lips against Iwaizumi’s temple, against a patch of skin that wasn’t bloody. He shivers, turns his head away, and there’s a tightness of his jaw that Tooru both hates and revels in – he doesn’t know which emotion is more prominent.

“…don’t forget my clothes, Oikawa.”

*

Later, when he’s admiring the arc that Iwaizumi’s back makes against the bed, he thinks about how bad Iwaizumi is at lying – always has been. His teeth are gritted when Tooru slips one finger in, presumably to keep that mewling noise Tooru loves so much in and unheard; but then there’s the way his thighs tremble from where he’s holding them open for Tooru, the way he’s all flushed and lovely, the way he clutches at those stupidly decadent French linen bed sheets of his when Tooru goes deeper.

“So eager, Iwa-chan,” Tooru murmurs anyway and he’s rewarded with Iwaizumi swinging his gaze around, the sheer spite in them sending a whole another kind of thrill up Tooru’s spine.

“Shut up, Trashykawa,” Iwaizumi growls and Tooru can’t help the giggles that bubble up his throat. Iwaizumi’s eyes grow hard, “The fuck are you laughing at?”

“You,” Tooru replies and Iwaizumi makes to pull himself away. Tooru lets him go, but he moves up to hover over Iwaizumi, delighted by the way he watches him, his annoyance for Tooru permanently etched in his skin. Tooru doesn’t mind, not really – it’s well-deserved, he’ll admit – and he lowers his head to mouth a soft spot of skin just underneath Iwaizumi’s ear; the same spot that makes him practically whine.

Predictably, Iwaizumi exhales a whimper and Tooru takes advantage of the moment, grasping at each of Iwaizumi’s wrists and pinning both of his hands onto the either side of his head.

“Fuck you,” Iwaizumi shoots back, breathless, and Tooru simply laughs into Iwaizumi’s skin, sinking his teeth in.

Truth is, Iwaizumi could very easily push Tooru off if he wanted to – he wasn’t labelled the strongest martial artist within the Port Mafia for nothing. That’s what makes him so terrifying, that he doesn’t _really_ need his Ability to decimate enemies; it’s a bonus, if anything. And then there’s the sheer carnage that is Corruption – demolishing everything in its path and unstoppable till Iwaizumi’s life-force had dried up.

Tooru loves it, loves the knowledge that only _he_ is capable of stopping Iwaizumi when he’s in that state, loves the fact that Iwaizumi may claim to hate him and threaten to kill him, but he won’t actually do it.

“Christ,” he curses, rutting his still-clothed erection into Iwaizumi’s, feeling heady with the knowledge. He leans back and fits his mouth over Iwaizumi’s, swallowing down the groan that vibrates between them. Iwaizumi doesn’t make it easy though – the way he bites onto Tooru’s lower lip is harsh to the point of drawing blood – but Tooru doesn’t mind.

He tastes like luxury – spending his formative years at a brothel had to rub off on him somehow. Tooru remembers meeting him first as a ten year old, hiding behind Madoka nee-san’s legs, scowling impressively at the visitors. He remembers a twelve year old Iwaizumi with as much penchant for humming along with the softest enka as getting into brawls – and coming out on top at that. He moves his hands up so that his longer fingers are tangled in Iwaizumi’s, basking in the callouses that came from practicing martial arts, intermingling with the ones he’d acquired when he’d learned how to play the shamisen.

There’s the slightest acidity on Iwaizumi’s tongue; perhaps a relic of the requisite half glass he must’ve taken before dinner; the sweet spices and mixed berries indicating a bold Bordeaux. Tooru licks into his mouth, drinking it all in, grounded by the taste; just another reminder that it _is_ Iwaizumi.

Funny how he can regress to old habits so easy or that he remembers exactly how to make Iwaizumi’s breath catch – just curling his tongue around Iwaizumi’s, just the simplest hum of satisfaction that makes their lips buzz, and Iwaizumi’s sobbing into his mouth. Funny how it still brings him that same gratification, even now, when they’re supposed to be older and wiser.

(Though Tooru thinks that ‘wiser’ is still up for debate, given the current circumstances.)

“Put your- fucking hands- to a better use-” Iwaizumi pants out each time Tooru breaks away to gulp in air.

“Do you really want me inside you _that_ badly, Iwa-chan?” Tooru can’t resist tossing back, joyful when Iwaizumi all but growls.

“Get this over with already,” he grunts and when Tooru draws back to look at him properly, he can see that complicated look in Iwaizumi’s eyes again – part hatred, but some of it is steeped in pain, like he’s warring with himself. Tooru almost softens because it’s so like Iwaizumi; contrary in all the ways that Tooru loves so much. His personality too brash, always picking violence as the answer to everything; but he could also be soft and pliant and graceful – even gracious – if the situation called for it. And yet, it’s only with Tooru that he never pretends, only Tooru who gets the privilege to breathe in Iwaizumi in all his unfiltered glory.

He smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss at the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth, taking in the shudder that comes on.

“As you wish.”

*

It ought to be more disturbing that Tooru can gauge exactly how Iwaizumi is feeling just by the tiniest of indications, every twitch of his body akin to blaring signs to Tooru, someone who’s incredibly meticulous by nature. He draws his eyes up to look at whatever little of Iwaizumi’s face wasn’t obscured by the man’s arm; the cut-off moan when Tooru curls his fingers to glance against the prostrate, the way he grits his teeth. Tooru knows that Iwaizumi would much rather be on his front, all so he could detach himself from the situation, forget that this was them.

Too bad Tooru has no such intentions.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Iwaizumi groans when Tooru scissors his digits open while leaning forward, lightly suckling on the head of Iwaizumi’s cock, barely any pressure, just enough for to leave Iwaizumi wanting for more contact. Tooru almost chuckles, remembering Iwaizumi at seventeen, carding his gloved fingers into Tooru’s hair as Tooru’s mouth was stuffed full of him, that smugness and _Well, isn’t **that** a better use for that filthy mouth of yours?_

 Tooru hums, takes him in deeper into his mouth while doing the same with his fingers, and Iwaizumi is a picture like always – abdominal muscles clenching tight, the tension reverberating all throughout his body and making his toes curl, the finest tremble of his skin. Tooru drinks him in, keeping his eyes wide and open. He’ll lie to himself later, pretend that he hasn’t missed this a whit, but he doesn’t do so now.

When he finally pulls his fingers out, that’s when Iwaizumi peeks from under his arm – a motion that would be endearing were he not looking absolutely fucked out, with eyes bright beneath their lids and face flushed, every exhale harsh. His gaze follows Tooru when he slides off the bed, padding over to the desk drawer that _still_ held the condoms – a result one too many times bent over said desk, because Tooru loathed paperwork with a passion and any distraction was fair game. There’s a part of him that just wants to say fuck it and just go in raw – the temptation to feel Iwaizumi around his cock is too strong as is that stupid possessiveness of his that wants to spill inside him, mark him as _his_ – but that’s a thing of the past.

Instead, he rolls on the condom, quick and efficient, aware of the way Iwaizumi’s eyes are trained on him the entire time.

He keeps watching him, utterly silent, and Tooru pauses right before he gets on the bed, feeling the sudden need to wet his lips.

Iwaizumi’s not any definition of pretty – hell, Madoka nee-san used to joke that Tooru was pretty enough to come and work in her pleasure quarters – but that’s only if one was being entirely literal about it. Like this though – thighs glistening from excess lube, the sheen of sweat on his skin, body taut and tense with arousal, eyes half-lidded, lips pink from where Tooru had bitten into them and his chest, rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath – Tooru thinks he’s utterly breath-taking.

“Iwa-chan should look like this more often,” he says instead, the smoothest of white lies.

(Because, Tooru would much rather not think about the _other_ things he feels when he looks at him; not now, not ever again.)

“And you should fucking get on with it,” Iwaizumi tosses back, automatic, before his lips curl up in mock-amusement, “Or do you want me to beg for it; flatter your ego and all that crap?”

A laugh bubbles out of Tooru’s mouth – he really can’t help it – and he kneels on the bed, hands burrowing into the firm flesh of Iwaizumi’s thighs and making them wrap around his hip.

“The only way I like you begging,” he tells Iwaizumi, “Is when I _make_ you, Iwa-chan.”

“How? By you withholding sex?” Iwaizumi cocks an eyebrow, still so ornery, and his laugh is sarcastic, “Like you don’t fucking _love_ telling the world that your cock is-”

And there’s something beautiful in seeing Iwaizumi choke on his own words and that too-quick inhale of surprise when Tooru drives into him without warning. His fingers scrabble to hold onto the sheets and Tooru has always loved taking him by surprise – this being no different.

“What was that about my cock?” Tooru asks him sweetly and Iwaizumi growls.

“Pretending that it’s good enough to get some poor woman to commit a fucking double suicide with your sorry ass,” he gets out valiantly, still breathless.

“Aww,” Tooru moves again, this time slower, with a more torturous bend to it, “Are you saying you want to die with me? How _very_ romantic-”

One of Iwaizumi’s hands shoots out, quick, and curls around Tooru’s throat, thumb pressing into his Adam’s apple. Tooru doesn’t care if it makes his chuckles wheezy or that it makes him breathless in a very literal way; he thrives on this, on making Iwaizumi mad and irrational.

“You should die alone,” Iwaizumi snarls; so honest, if he were anyone else, Tooru might’ve actually been hurt, “You should just fucking _die_ already.”

Some part of him will always be finely tuned to Iwaizumi, almost like an inescapable awareness, as natural as breathing. It used to be useful in the past, back when they were partners and knowing each other inside and out had been their greatest asset. He doesn't know if that's a good thing now, but maybe there’s some use for it yet… because Tooru can read between the lines, even though Iwaizumi is astonishingly easy to read.

He leans back a bit, pulling out from Iwaizumi, and then he slams back in again, going hard and deep till his balls sit flush against Iwaizumi’s ass. The grip around his neck loosens a bit when Iwaizumi’s back arches in response to the thrust, the feeling of fullness making him pant harshly.

“If it were you,” Tooru whispers and it’s too loud in the quietness of Iwaizumi’s bedroom, too _honest,_ “I’d let you kill me, Hajime.”

It’s because he knows exactly what makes the man beneath him tick that Tooru divines what Iwaizumi’s incoherent grunt of frustration means. He’s even less surprised when Iwaizumi pulls him forward to bite into his mouth, all teeth and no finesse.

“You’re a bastard,” he growls against Tooru’s lips, “I hate you so fucking much.”

Tooru grasps onto his hips in response, fucking into him once more without a trace of leisure or any of his requisite laziness. Iwaizumi gives – gritting his teeth, he buries his face in the nape of Tooru’s neck, his fingers curling in brunet locks – and Tooru can feel the shuddering breaths on his skin each time he pushes into Iwaizumi.

Tooru whispers, angling his head just so he can get to the lobe of one reddened ear, soothe it with his tongue.

“It’s okay. I hate you too, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi’s breath hitches and Tooru automatically thinks back to his old executive days – _dauntless_ was what Hanamaki and Matsukawa had called them as a joke and it used to fit like a glove. _Ittetsu_ was what they’d started whispering after that first time they’d partnered together to destroy a rival organization and done so overnight. Tooru wonders about now, he doesn't know if it does anymore, not when they’re two people, still lying to themselves about everything.

(But perhaps that was the problem in the first place – the fact that things were never going to be objectively simple, just by virtue of the fact that they were Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime. Two boys abandoned in the Sendai streets and raised into a world where scruples meant next to nothing… how could they’ve _ever_ turned out any other way?)

Iwaizumi’s fingers tighten in his hair.

“You son of a bitch,” he groans, lips pressed into Tooru neck, “You’d better make it good.”

Tooru swallows down the retort on his lips – _have I ever not?_ – for this is not the time for it, he’s already dallied for too long. He rolls his hips in response, dragging his cock on something that makes Iwaizumi hiss and reflexively tense, and then he pushes Iwaizumi back down on the bed, pinning him in place with his own weight as he fucks into him, fast and hard and earnest. That sound like a mewl that Iwaizumi makes after one particularly rough thrust lets him know that he’s doing well, but it’s when he lets Tooru’s name – his given name – slip, that’s when he knows he’s done _too_ well.

“Tooru… fuck, _Tooru,_ ” he practically cries and it’s so reminiscent of the years gone by, Tooru feels the first pangs of something almost… _emotional_ in his chest. Burying his face in Iwaizumi’s neck doesn’t help either, because the memories have congealed and they sit just under that tan skin. Iwaizumi _is_ the very physical representation of who Tooru used to be, after all.

“Always so good to me, Hajime,” he murmurs anyway, feeling Iwaizumi twitch under him, and he’s not even lying on that account. _You must love me, hm_ , he almost says too, but there are some things that he likes to think are still sacred.

He unwinds himself from around Iwaizumi, kneels back onto the bed again when he feels the thighs around him shake, feels Iwaizumi tense even further. There’s nary a rhythm when Tooru pumps his hips this time, but he makes sure to wrap his hand around Iwaizumi’s length, fingers moving in tandem with his thrusts.

He’s a picture like this, Tooru thinks, watching him intently. Iwaizumi's eyes are perhaps the prettiest part of him, their slate-green such a rare shade amongst the Japanese. Tooru watches them, pupils blown wide and greener in the dim lighting, admires the near cat-like quality of them, and he's always had a soft spot for the way they looked when he tore up - especially so when Tooru's fucking his throat relentlessly or when it’s like this, his cock moving inside him, ruthless.

And then there’s the way he looks at Tooru and Tooru loves that look best, even if he shouldn’t, not now, even if it hurts him in ways that he didn’t even know he could still hurt.

Iwaizumi has always been terrible at lying and this is no exception – eyes half-lidded and equal parts earnest and desperate, his mouth parted and wet, the softest of gasps involuntarily spilling from his lips and legs straining, curling tighter around Tooru as he helplessly meets him for every thrust. So honest Iwaizumi always is, Tooru thinks; and without uttering a word at that.

There's a small strip of skin visible when Iwaizumi tosses his head back, a bright red scar stark against the tan – one that _hadn't_ sunk back into Iwaizumi's skin once Tooru had neutralized him – and that, more than anything else, wrings out the orgasm from the base of Tooru's spine with a force that surprises him. He fucks Iwaizumi through it, collapses forward to mouth that patch of skin – still surprised like all the other times before when it didn't taste any different – one hand still jerking off Iwaizumi, intent.

A part of his brain that was still sober – and not utterly drunk on Iwaizumi – catalogues the sensations without really meaning to, and he thinks – he can't remember the last time he'd come hard enough to white out his vision; hard enough with every muscle in his body clenching, toes curling, and he had to bite, hard, into the skin of Iwaizumi's throat to keep himself from screaming till his voice was hoarse.

When he pulls out his softening prick, Iwaizumi winces, then promptly glares because he's still hard and hot in Tooru's hand. He opens his mouth – and Tooru can almost hear the invectives before he can hurl them – so Tooru does what he can and promptly pushes three fingers into Iwaizumi's hole, curling them without much preamble.

Iwaizumi makes a sound at that, sticky with want and desperation. Wisely, Tooru doesn't say anything, mostly because he's a little afraid that if he does, all that would come out will be praises, things that he used to think when he was seventeen and utterly, utterly enamoured. 

Instead, he grips onto Iwaizumi's cock tighter, watches him squirm as he's pulled in two directions, and then he almost laughs at himself – because, hell, he hasn't been a good enough liar when it comes to Iwaizumi either. 

Iwaizumi moves his head so that he's looking at Tooru again, meeting his eyes, something unsaid and painfully honest in them, and the words are out there before Tooru can do anything about them.

"You're _beautiful_ ," He blurts, too goddamned sincere to be any shade of suave – it’s not just misplaced, post-coital affection either, Tooru realizes – and Iwaizumi's eyes widen in shock, almost unfairly pretty in the dimness of the room. A couple more rough strokes and Iwaizumi clenches around Tooru's fingers, a shudder going through him as he screws his eyes shut, mouth parting around a breathless moan.

" _Tooru_ ," He practically sobs, arching up and spilling all over his abdomen, and Tooru coaxes him through it, his spent cock giving an actual twitch at the sight.

Because, well, Iwaizumi _is_ beautiful in the realest sense of the word and a part of Tooru wishes that he'd never seen it.

Instead of collapsing on Iwaizumi and shamelessly begging for another go like he would have a lifetime ago, Tooru gets to his feet instead, discarding the condom in the wastebasket on his way to the en suite bathroom. He considers taking a shower but then discards the idea just as quickly as it comes to him, choosing instead to rummage through Iwaizumi's things till he finds a washcloth and uses that. 

When he returns to the bedroom, Iwaizumi is lying in the same position that he'd left him in, eyes open and curiously blank as he blinks up at the ceiling. Tooru knows from experience that it's the exhaustion and it'll take a couple of days for him to sleep it off. He kneels between Iwaizumi's legs regardless, and it's only at the first press of the damp washcloth that Iwaizumi jolts physically, almost as if forced out of his head by the sensation. 

" _Don't_ ," He growls, forbidding and dangerous, but Tooru can also hear the fatigue in there.

"Let me," Tooru whispers back, running the cloth over the inside of Iwaizumi's thighs and this, he'll admit openly, he's missed this – Iwaizumi pliant and soft and loose, yielding to him in the aftermath.

"Fuck, you can't-" Iwaizumi starts, his breath hitching when Tooru holds him open to wipe off the lube from his still sensitive hole, and Tooru, stupidly, drops all pretence.

"Just-” he pauses, sounding more hoarse than he ought to, “Just let me do this for you, hm?"

Iwaizumi looks away, his jaw tense and tight, and Tooru continues his ministrations, something almost calming about this. If he tries, he can pretend that it’s like the older days and Iwaizumi’s letting him do this, letting him see his vulnerability in other, less provocative ways. Except, where Iwaizumi ought to be slack and easy, his muscles are taut with tension, his posture radiating apprehension. And yet, Tooru thinks, he’s not pushing him away.

 _Small victories_ , Tooru tries to remind himself, but it doesn’t stick. Most likely because it’s _not_ four years ago and as much as he wants to pretend otherwise, Iwaizumi doesn’t let him. That he’s itching to throw Tooru off and, preferably, out of a window, it’s evident in the way he holds himself as Tooru wipes him down. In response, Tooru wants to go even slower – because he revels in being contrary to everyone, but _especially_ Iwaizumi – but, fighting down the usual impulse to be a complete bastard, he does his job quickly and thoroughly.

It’s once he’s done and has thrown the washcloth in a miscellaneous direction – and promptly received a glare in response – that Iwaizumi’s eyes return to his face fully, the moue of discontent present. Tooru fails to abate the thrill that runs down his spine at the guarded look Iwaizumi gives him, and begins moving towards the bed automatically.

“Get out.” Iwaizumi snarls, the rough voice stained with barely caged fury.

Tooru pauses, his mind whirring as he tried to make sense of what he’d started to do. Muscle memory held here too – for Tooru was fully prepared to slide into Iwaizumi’s king-size bed and sleep, preferably with Iwaizumi pulled close and tucked under his chin. The expression on Iwaizumi’s face, however, tells him that he’d most likely end up requiring more bandages to cover his skin than usual if he tried it. Not to mention, Tooru remembers the Bowie knife Iwaizumi kept in his nightstand, and he has no doubts that it’d be sticking out of his neck if he gave him enough reason to tonight.

“Get. _Out_.” Iwaizumi repeats and it takes Tooru a while to formulate a reply, given that he’s stuck by the way a cut on Iwaizumi’s hairline has reopened and is leaking blood.

“Hajime,” is what eventually slips out of his mouth, and the next moment, something explodes just left of him. Tooru realizes that Iwaizumi’s pitched a lamp at his head and intentionally missed; the way his eyes glitter in anger tells Tooru that he wouldn’t miss a second time.

“You lost the right to call me that _years_ ago,” he hisses, “So get the fuck out of my house before I kill you.”

He can’t; Tooru and Iwaizumi both know that it’s an empty threat. Perhaps that’s what gives Tooru the courage to press anyway.

“I do miss you, you know.” He murmurs, but he doesn’t move any closer.

Iwaizumi’s bark of laughter is entirely mirthless and chilly as ice.

“Do you now?” he scoffs, “Is that before or after you tried to blow up my damn car?”

Now that… he isn’t entirely sure what he was thinking, what with his mind being so clouded over with grief and hurt, but he has an inkling. If he were to discard everything about his past self, it stood to reason that Iwaizumi would have to go too – all of his best memories of his time in the Port Mafia were associated with the man, after all.

“Always,” Tooru answers instead, because it’s true – because he can pretend to be a good person doing good things, but his place is in the dark depths of the underground, and the brief glimpses of serenity he’d had with Iwaizumi, that had made everything else worth it.

But it hadn’t been worth enough for him to _stay_.

Where Tooru can spin the prettiest of lies, even he can recognize that, in this moment, he’s wholly incapable of it. The way Iwaizumi looks at him, so pained and raw, he _can’t_ lie – because, where Tooru’s days had been spent faking smiles and swallowing anger, Iwaizumi was the brightest point of light in the darkness that shrouded the underground. Because, he was so _true_ , all whip-sharp anger and crass language, so thoroughly incapable of tact and telling Tooru his numerous flaws bluntly and without pulling any punches – how could Tooru have _not_ been taken in by that?

“Liar.” Iwaizumi says, his mouth bitter around the word. Figures that the one time Tooru’s telling the truth, this happens. But then Iwaizumi continues, “Because if you fucking did, you would’ve _said_ something instead of just up and leaving. What the fuck am I supposed to think about that, huh?” He covers his face with a hand then, chuckling ruefully, “I’ve always been some footnote to you, haven’t I, Oikawa?”

He hasn’t been, and that’s the most terrifying thing to Tooru, someone who’s so thoroughly consumed by the yawning emptiness in him, he doesn’t think himself capable of human connections.

“You’re not,” Tooru replies, quiet and imbued with the faintest hint of sincerity – or at least he hopes it is. He cards his bandaged fingers through his hair, “You can’t just be a footnote, Iwa-chan. Why else do you think we’re here?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer; he keeps his face hidden under his arm, shadowed just enough that Tooru can’t tell what kind of an expression he’s making. The atmosphere of the room is oppressive, heavy in a way their usual sniping and banter can’t cut, and Tooru doesn’t even try. The unsaid things, the last four years of radio silence hang between them, because Tooru may belong in the darkness, but he wasn’t a part of it anymore. Iwaizumi was and would remain there until the day he died, because he was unfailingly loyal to the things and people who’d made him… even Tooru.

Because if it comes down to it, and Tooru knows this deep in his bones, Iwaizumi won’t kill him.

When Iwaizumi speaks finally, his voice is immensely tired, something that is more than simple exhaustion.

“What do you even want from me, Tooru?”

What _did_ Tooru want from him? He hadn’t come here seeking just sexual gratification, that’s for sure. Where Tooru’s done his best to bury his past, every stray thought of Iwaizumi hit him with the notes of nostalgia that Tooru didn’t deserve nor want. This wasn’t two teenagers who thought they could take the world, not anymore.

“I don’t know.” Tooru answers, painfully honest, because asking Iwaizumi for everything had stopped being an option when he left the Port Mafia.

Iwaizumi’s exhale is too loud in the room and he moves, only to turn on his side, his back to Tooru. His shoulders are tense and his legs curl towards his abdomen, something openly vulnerable in his posture.

“Then get the fuck out of here,” Iwaizumi’s voice is soft, even, “You’re still in the middle of a mission, aren’t you?”

Tooru jars at the reminder. He then goes over to pile by the end of the bed, carefully stepping around the shards of the destroyed table lamp and begins dressing himself – first rewrapping the numerous bandages over his skin, then pulling on his clothes one by one. Once he shrugs into his coat, Tooru’s suddenly unsure of what to say, or if he even wants to say anything. Somehow, he still can’t bring himself to say goodbye, because it signified endings, and as bad as this thing he has is, Iwaizumi’s the one bad habit Tooru can’t break.

He turns then, striding towards the door, the heel of his oxfords clacking against the polished floor. The door swings open noiselessly, and just before Tooru’s about to leave, Iwaizumi pipes up, tone so cold, it’d freeze the room if it could.

“Don’t come back again, Oikawa.” He says, pausing to let the words reverberate in the air between them, “There’s nothing here.”

Tooru doesn’t contest it like he wants to. They both know it’s never going to be just nothing between them for as long as they breathed.

“Okay.” Tooru replies softly, then walks out, his hands buried in the pockets of his coat, fully knowing that Iwaizumi can probably hear Tooru lying through his teeth.

*

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading. <3


End file.
